Cry for Help
by sammyhemp875
Summary: This story is based off of the poem Barbie Doll by Marge Piercy. It is a story of a girl struggling with her depression who tries to reach out for help with no luck. It is slightly dark, and not the best thing I've written, but I hope you enjoy.


"I've never been happy," I told the shrink.

"Never?"

"Never."

He didn't seem to get it. He just stared at me blankly, as if I was supposed to give him some bullshit answer that would make him feel better about himself.

Fat chance, bucko.

"Could you tell me more about being unhappy?"

I snorted and rolled my eyes. What was I supposed to say? Depression isn't something that can be explained or pinpointed to a specific thing, it just is. It comes from so many aspects of your life and it swallows you whole until you are in for life. I mean, let's face it: It doesn't get better from here.

"When my sister was born, she was deemed perfect by my parents. Then I was born, and I never seemed to stand a chance. They always preferred her and loved her while they cast me aside. It's been like this my entire life. My sister never gets in trouble, no matter what she does, and then if I so much as screw up one time it's like I have become Hitler."

"What else?" he asked.

"Well, I've never really had friends. Kids at school always made fun of me for wearing my sister's hand me downs and not being as pretty as her. And frankly, I can't blame them. I mean, me compared to her? She is the Barbie to my Skipper! I just look like all my parents shit genes decided to pair up and produce me. I never had a chance in comparison to her."

"It seems like your sister is a big part of why you're here today. Does your sister know how you feel?"

I glared at him through the dim lighting of the room. I didn't like this place, and it's not like I asked to be here. The school made me come to this shit hole and said I couldn't come back to school until I saw a counselor. To this shrink, I was just another notch he could add to his belt, saying he had helped however many people throughout the years.

I wasn't going to give him that. I haven't given him my trust, let alone my mind.

The only reason I even agreed to come here is because I love school. Don't get me wrong, I hate the people, because people suck just on principle. However, academia is where I feel I belong. I might not be pretty, and I might not be athletic, but I can surpass anyone academically. Math, science, English…you name it, I can do it.

I wasn't going to answer his last question. Like my sister would even give me the time of day. The answer was fucking obvious. Yes, I totally just sat down with Sandra and was like, "Hey sis, could you like, maybe not be in the spotlight all the time? K thanks." I mean seriously. Who does that?

I noticed him glancing over at the clock on his desk, turned just enough so I couldn't see the time but he could. What, was he bored already? Asshole. I seriously am just another notch on his belt. I guess that confirms my suspicions of no one caring or bothering to listen to me.

It's moments like this I question my own existence. I get it. I'm not liked. If I died tonight, no one would notice and no one would care. So maybe it really is time. Maybe this is what I have been waiting for.

At some point, the shrink said time was up, and I walked out of the room in a daze. I walked home because my mom forgot to pick me up, as usual. She can't even remember to pick me up from school, why would she bother picking me up from anywhere else?

I walked through the door of my house and saw my family, sitting on the couch as if everything was normal. They were laughing and joking as if that was all they needed. They didn't even notice me walking through the door, and I went straight to my bedroom and locked the door.

Let's see how long it'd take for them to notice I was gone. Let's see if they even _would_ notice.

Echoing through my head were the words my dad had said to me before they sent me off to counseling.

_You're suicidal? You think that's funny? You think that's going to give you attention? That is not the way to get it. Give me a break. I work to keep your ass alive and give you a roof over your head. You think saying you're suicidal is going to give you special treatment? You're wrong._

I kept seeing the look on my mother's face. Disappointment. Shame. Embarrassment. Apparently that's all I was to this family. My sister stood next to my mother and said nothing, just stared at me like I was a ghost, as if I was already gone.

I walked over to my night stand and grabbed the knife I had been keeping there for this exact moment. I stuffed my mouth with sheets from my bed to muffle my screams. I didn't want them to find me; I didn't want anyone to find me. I reached out for help and what did I get?

A lecture about how I'm not worth their time or attention.

I sat against my bedroom door and stared at the knife. What do I go for first? My big, ugly nose? My fat thighs? It didn't matter, I guess. As long as I was gone, nothing would matter.

I've never believed in heaven, or God, or the power of Jesus in all of us. I have always been one for science, and believing there needs to be proof of something before jumping in blind. I have done research on what it feels like to be dead, and no one knows. That's why so many people are scared of death; they don't know what's in store for them.

That's how I know it wouldn't get better; there was nothing to look forward to except, well, nothing.

I slowly made the first cut through the side of my nose. I could feel the blood trickling down the side of my face, mixing with my tears of relief. I continued cutting off my nose and sawing through my legs until I couldn't feel my arms for lack of blood.

I hoped that once I was found, I was found smiling, so they knew I finally got what I wanted, and I never needed their approval anyway.


End file.
